


Through These Lenses

by sabasama



Category: Free!
Genre: Gen, Horror AU, Supernatural - Freeform, don't be scared of the major death tag, i promise it's not so bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:23:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabasama/pseuds/sabasama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="http://awful-aus.tumblr.com/post/127897121677/awful-horror-au-2">“I’m a photographer and I’m starting to notice that you are in the background of every single one of the photos I’ve taken, staring directly at me. I don’t even know how you did that I’ve literally traveled all over the country who the hell are you?”</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a random burst of... "i-really-need-to-write-this-right-now-no-matter-what" and I'm not entirely sure what it is. I might even add more to it. THANKS TO LIV FOR BETA'ING.

You don’t remember when it began. You’d have to go back through countless photo shoots and files to really pinpoint the first time it happened – _He_ happened.

 

At first you didn’t notice it. Not the first, second, or third. Yet, by the fourth something was tugging on the edge of your consciousness. You were scanning the glaring screen of your laptop in the darkness of your studio apartment at an ungodly hour of night when it had finally hit you – a boy, in every picture.

 

You couldn’t believe it at first, naturally. You thought the darkness of night was probably just getting to you. You reasoned it was probably just this wedding shoot, probably just a boy at the service. However, as you flipped from picture to picture, there He was. And maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad if He weren’t staring right at the camera – right at you. Almost as if peering into the camera and into _you_.

 

It doesn’t stop there, though. Something beckons you, something possesses your fingers to move and navigate through your countless folders of shoots after shoots after shoots and – and He’s there. He’s everywhere.

 

Sometimes it’s just a portion of Him, hidden behind a wall, or a table, or a bookshelf. Sometimes it’s all of Him – standing, or sitting, or kneeling. But His eyes – there’s always at least one eye on the camera, always at least one eye on you.

 

You hear yourself laugh – something sardonic and unbelieving. This has to be a joke. This is probably Sousuke’s terrible excuse of a joke and you’re almost certain of it because Sousuke sucks at jokes.

 

You shut the laptop. You almost slam it.

 

The force of it brings you back a little, back to the present, back to reality. You wince at your abused and innocent laptop, and to make it up to it in some way, you place it down gently on your desk before shuffling away to shower, sleep, eat, read – anything to get your mind off of what you’ve just found.

 

In the morning, it’ll be a brand new day; a fresh new mind; a fresh new start; temporary relief from this nightmare you found in reality.

  
  


When you question Sousuke about it, the puzzled and somewhat concerned look you receive from your best friend is more than enough to confirm that this isn’t his doing. He honestly seems to have no idea what you’re talking about.

 

You try to play it off and it works - sort of.

 

“Rin, what have I told you about fixing the vent in your bathroom?” Sousuke had teased you after a smirk broke through his previously troubled countenance, “You can’t be inhaling those developer fumes every damn day.”

  
  


He doesn’t go away, and oddly enough it doesn’t surprise you.

 

Around week two, you pull out your most recent boxes of developed photos and you even find Him in your personal film collection, too.

 

He’s this small little thing. Black hair swept to the side and over His face. Blue, wide eyes that even though they are virtually void of light, still seem oddly intriguing and – and _familiar_.

 

That’s what scares you the most; the familiarity of the little boy in your pictures eats away at your consciousness with every breath you take. For a time, you’re plagued with questions of who He is, where you’ve seen Him, what the _fuck_ is He doing in all your pictures, and how does He even get there?

 

It’s impossible, you think. This whole thing is just one huge improbability staring you in the face. But there’s also all the evidence; the improbability is staring you in the face but the evidence is crawling up and down your skin, resting in your gut and in your throat.

 

You take a few weeks off from work. Sousuke agrees readily.

 

“You’ve been working yourself to the bone, you deserve a good rest.”

 

You don’t take any pictures. It’s the longest you’ve ever gone without a camera in your hands since you were at least twelve. Your hands itch to feel the weight of a camera – _any_ camera; film, or digital, or instant, or disposable. But that boy is burned into the back of your eyelids. He’s burned into your viewfinder; He’s burned into your lenses; He’s burned into your film.

 

You’re terrorized by the one thing you love and it’s the worst internal battle you’ve ever experienced.

  
  


When you get back to work, your first project is a wedding at the beach.

 

The beach is one of your safe havens and seems like the perfect venue to get you back into the groove of things. Time has let the shock of the boy in your pictures lessen and dissolve and now you’ve practically just accepted it, despite still hoping that perhaps He has disappeared in your prolonged absence.

 

The wedding is beautiful, naturally, and you have no issues getting absolutely fantastic shot after shot after shot. You don’t check the preview, though – you don’t dare to. His presence in every photo might not be as jarring as it once was, but you’re frightened any glimpse of Him now might throw you back to square one and you really want to do a good job on your first shoot back.

 

Later that night, you find Him, again, in every photo.

 

It’s different this time, though – _He’s_ different.

 

You still physically jump at the sight of Him, but the fear quickly gives way to mild bewilderment and instant curiosity because – because He’s not looking at the camera. You keep flipping through the photos, numb fingers progressively jabbing the keys harder and harder and – and He’s not looking, He’s not even facing you like he always is.

 

He’s facing the ocean, and suddenly it’s like a dam somewhere inside of you has torn itself to shreds and you’re being assaulted by a barrage of emotions and memories and images you’ve never seen in your life until – until you see yourself.

 

It’s you, through the eyes of someone else, younger. The flashing scenes slow down and stop as if someone had honed in on this one moment.

 

First, it’s you from a distance, playing in the sand on the beach, splashing water everywhere. You’re alone but it might as well not matter seeing as you seem to be having more than enough fun on your own. But something tells you that, right now, it’s not you on the outside looking in.

 

Then, it’s you up close, and your hands are grabbing… your hands? No – no these are not your hands; these hands are tan and the nails don’t look bitten down to a stub like they usually were. You’re laughing and squealing, pulling along this person and suddenly, your present self realizes finally that you're looking through the eyes of Him.

 

The scene shifts again and now it’s dark and it’s cold and it’s wet. He’s soaking wet and shivering to the bone but you see yourself out there, floating seemingly lifelessly and you feel so many emotions running through you – _Him_ – that it’s almost hard to keep up; fear, hopelessness, guilt. You can feel He’s ready to run in and then – then He’s off, splashing through the spraying waves, droplets of water feeling razor sharp against His stone cold skin. His lungs are screaming for mercy, stinging beyond belief and begging to release all the water He’s already inhaled but He ignores it all and you can see yourself more clearly now, skin completely white and hair plastered over your ghostly porcelain face and purple lips. You vaguely wonder if that’s what He looks like right now, too.

 

Then He’s pulling you into His skinny little arms, hooking one arm under yours and trying His best to pull Himself forward with His other, kicking His numb legs frantically behind Him, aiming for shore, shore, _shore_.

  
He makes it, you both make it, and with His last bit of strength He pushes your body further inland, away from the savage waves clawing away at the shore. You see yourself through His eyes as you turn over and can only watch as your back heaves. You’re wondering, frantically, what He’s doing, because it seems like the scene is slowly wavering and fading, but He’s still barely out of the water; barely out of danger. And no matter how much you fight it, the scene finally fades and you don’t have to think too hard to understand what happens next until suddenly you’re back in your apartment, staring at the screen of your laptop, as if you hadn't just felt the waves pulling you in.


	2. Ending 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ:
> 
>  
> 
> I am simultaneously happy and unhappy with this. It feels lacking, but I also don't want to throw it out. 
> 
> As a result, there will be one more chapter to this small work and it will be an Alternate Ending. 
> 
> Also, just a heads up, the first part is probably the spookiest this'll get??? Imo it's not so bad, but just in case... Don't read this in the dark, maybe?? Ahaha, enjoy!

You don’t know how to use your body after your eyes snap open. You feel detached, as if you’re still in His body, His memories. You don’t feel like Matsuoka Rin for a few minutes until, finally, the feeling in the tips of your fingers starts to come back, slowly inching up your arms and spreading. It’s like someone had just doused you in ice-cold water and then placed a warm blanket around your shoulders. You wait another couple minutes before you feel comfortable getting up and when you do, you’re heading towards the bathroom in a daze.

 

Your hands move slower than your mind as you go through the mundane steps of filling up the bath and slowly peeling your clothes off. You don’t even know why you need to do this, until you realize your body is actually trembling and you have to look down to confirm that you’re not drenched in cold seawater. You tell yourself you don’t trust your legs standing in the shower, but there’s something else pulling you towards the tub, something deeper and more ingrained – something unexplainable.

 

You brace your hand against the wall as you shakily slip a foot in and the relief of the warm water melting the shivers and stiffness from your muscles almost has you slipping into the tub headfirst. You catch yourself, though, and soon you’re seated comfortably, relaxing and inhaling deeply, muscles unwinding and sinking low until all that’s left above surface is your nose and eyes, strands of black hair softly swirling and caressing your cheeks.

 

_Black… hair?_

 

You sit up straighter, reaching up to grab a strand of hair as if it’s not already hanging in your face, but – but you saw that. You definitely saw that.

 

When you pull a strand up to examine up close, eyes going cross-eyed, you find your same old hair, maroon and long.

 

Shaking your head, you sink back down. A lot of weird things have been happening; you’ve _seen_ a lot of weird things – for example, the memories of this mysterious phantom that apparently knew you prior to His death. A day ago, you had no idea these memories existed, but suddenly you can remember in very fine detail exactly who He is – _was_. You remember playing with Him as a child on the beach almost every day. You remember the insecurity and the second-guessing-yourself the first day you met. You also remember the day He first smiled at you and felt like you had just been let in on a little secret -- something only you and Him knew. You remember the night you guys had lied to your parents that you’d be sleeping over each other’s houses; instead, you had just lain down in the sand together and watched the stars all night. And as if it wasn’t bad enough, now you remember more than one version of the memory of the night it all became history and buried itself deep in the recesses of your mind.

 

Sighing, you rest your head back on the tiled wall. If you could bury it once, you can bury it again, right?

 

By the time you’re crawling out, patting yourself dry, you’re almost certain it’s practically dawn. You make up your mind to shoot Sousuke a text that you’re taking the day off before heading to bed as you walk over to your sink. Opening the mirror compartment, you pull out your toothbrush and paste, getting to work on brushing. You do it quickly, ready to head to bed at least before the break of dawn so you can properly fall asleep. When you’re done and shutting the mirror, something stops you. Your arm just locks up halfway.

 

You slowly shut it, and honestly, why the fuck would you be surprised?

 

 

 

It’s no longer the pictures. The pictures are the least of your worries now. He’s given a whole new meaning to _being everywhere_. He’s in the mirrors, the corners of your vision, in your mind, in your dreams. You don’t feel like you’re the only one living in your body any longer; you’re sharing your consciousness with Him and you can’t remember where you end and He begins.

You can’t even tell anyone. Every time you open your mouth, the words play out in your mind and they sound more and more ludicrous. Sousuke, your best friend, your brother by heart -- you can’t even tell him. He doesn’t even know the story, given you hadn’t remembered it up until a few weeks ago.

And even then, what can anyone do for you?

How can anyone save you from yourself? He doesn’t even feel like a separate entity any longer. It’s not Him projected in your pictures anymore; He’s inside of you and you can’t feel it but you know He is, living on in the memories He forcefully uncovered.

 ****  
  


 

Eventually, you learn to live with it -- Him. It’s almost as if He’s a part of you know, which you suppose He is. He’s not around all the time, but you realize He’s slowly coming into view more often than not. It doesn’t startle you anymore, or even make you uncomfortable. Once the scent of brine tickles your nose, you know He’s there. It even becomes familiar -- homely, comforting. Like He’d never left in the first place. As if you’d grown up together like you might have if He hadn’t, you hadn’t--

You down the rest of your beer and set the empty can down on the coffee table, relaxing back into the sofa. You can’t see Him, but you can smell Him.

Turning back to your computer, you get back to work on editing the photos of your recent project. You’ve grown accustomed to His presence in every photo by now that you hardly pay attention to it as you adjust the lighting, clean-up rough edges, erase flaws. He’s just there, as He is in your everyday reality.

...

Speak of the devil.

You turn your head and He’s right there, sitting to the left of you. Just sitting, kicking His little legs idly. Unlike in the pictures, He doesn’t pay you much mind in person (phantom? spirit?). You’ve tried to speak to Him before, too, but even that was to no avail. You start to wonder if maybe He just can’t speak; probably some type of twisted repercussion from His cause of death.

“Why are you here.” It’s not even a question. Hell, it feels more like you’re talking to yourself. Your words are ricocheting off the walls and furniture, but not off Him. “What do you want from me.”

You’re not looking at Him, but you jump when you see His head turn in your direction. He doesn’t do that often -- acknowledge you. It’s like a reminder every time that this is some type of being with its own free will but still somehow defies the laws of reality.  

Biting the inside of your cheek, you turn to meet His hollow, indigo gaze head-on. That, at the very least, never gets easier; His eyes are the only outer indication of the absence of life and blood. They’re wide pools, seemingly connected to the bottomless trenches of the ocean and they send a chill so bone deep down your spine you have to bodily hold back the shudder that rips through you. You hope it’s only your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’re almost certain they get darker and darker every day.

He opens His mouth and your body promptly freezes in place, breath caught in your throat except nothing comes out, almost as if He’d forgotten His own predicament.

You feel an irritation start to bubble up in your chest. “Why. Why now? It’s been 12 years -- _why now?_!” Your voice increases in volume as you hover over Him, gripping the sides of your laptop for dear life, fighting the pressing urge to fling it across the room.

Cold fingers graze against your whitening knuckles and it feels like the fight has just been punched out of you. The rage had clouded your mind to the point you hadn’t even registered His hand reaching out for yours, soothingly running a frigid thumb over the back of your hand.

You can feel your body deflating like a popped balloon as the tears start prickling the corners of your eyes and pouring down your face endlessly. You push your computer off your lap and pull Him into your arms in one graceless movement. You didn’t even know it was possible to touch Him, but He’s there and He feels so real that it only hurts that much more. There are a string of words falling out of your mouth, apologies lost in between gasps and sobs and hiccups. There's a lightness in your chest where you hadn't noticed there'd been a weight. You can’t see His face, but you can feel His little arms wrapping around your waist, His frigid shoulder cooling your warm cheeks and lulling you to sleep, broken apologies slurring to a finish.

 

 **  
**  
  
  
When you wake up in the morning, He’s gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack. I'm sorry. I know it seems......... unresolved and weird and incomplete. I just couldn't bring myself to erase it all. I'm very excited to write the alternate ending though, and you can all thank the wonderful Liv for that, bc without them I'd probably have had no idea how to end this (properly).
> 
> Hope u guys enjoyed this measly little update... See ya next time! Thanks for stopping by.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't kill me. I'll photobomb all ur selfies.


End file.
